Paranoia
by Mazzie May
Summary: We take a look at how paranoia effects a certain group of individuals. T for angst and drama. R&R please. Chapter three up now, four on the way.
1. Side Effects

**Author's Note: Here we go...**

**Summary: We take a look at what paranoia means to a few certain individuals. **

** Rating: T for teen-like angst ;)**

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**Paranoia**

Chapter One: Side Effects

_By: Mazzie May_

Sherry stared at her full-body mirror on her closet door. She couldn't see her reflection in it; she was lying in her bed. Which was strange, seeing as how it was only ten o'clock at night. On a Tuesday. Leon seemed to think it was a bit early, too. He stepped in her doorway and leaned against her doorframe, looking annoyed.

"Oi, girl," he said, arms crossed. "We haven't gone out and gotten dinner yet. What're you doing in here?" he tilted his head down, looking at her through his hair. Something he did while waiting for an answer.

Sherry shifted a bit, but didn't divert her eyes from the mirror. What was she doing? Thinking about Raccoon. She didn't really like to. She'd much rather be out getting Chinese with Leon than think about Raccoon right now. When Leon had informed her that, once again, they would be going out to eat, she hopped up the stairs to change.

And that's when the flashbacks happened.

She'd grabbed for a tank top – _blonde woman was bit on her shoulder_ –

Opted for a black, short sleeve, mid-drift shirt instead – _had their stomachs torn out – _

She pulled a long sleeved shirt over that – _neck, always got them at the neck –_

And then a beige turtle neck. She pulled out some ankle socks – _little girl who was pulled under –_

And pulled up some knee socks, too – _ankles, grabbed for their feet _–

She reached for her converse – _tore out the bone_ –

And laced up her boots, scrunching the knee socks around the top. Protectively. She left on her faded blue jeans - _can run farther in them – _and looked at herself in the mirror.

She didn't like what she saw. She curled up on her bed, only after checking under it. "Leon…"

"And what the hell are you wearing?"

"Leon…"

"It's, like, June"

"Leon."

"Do you want to get heat stroke and die?"

"Leon"

"'Cause you are off to a great start, my friend"

"Leon, I checked under my bed"

Silence followed the sentence. He knew what she meant. It was something they did religiously for the first four years after Raccoon. Looking under one's bed is fine. But when one checks… well, that one is expecting to find something. In this case, a zombie or some other creature. Nowadays, it was rare for either one to do it while they're awake. After a nightmarish memory of some sort, Sherry would run into Leon's room and ask him to check her bed. Sometimes, she'll still be awake and hear Leon roll off his bed and slam onto the floor, checking his own.

Leon always checks the backseat quickly, but carefully before ever getting into a car, truck, or van. The word '_air vent_' and the sight of one threaten to force her into a claustrophobic panic attack. Snails, slugs and the like make her chest burn like before in the sewers. He's drenched in guilt when reporters are around in any way. They both get sick when the see or hear trains. Yellow blankets make her cry and the colour red depresses him.

But those were things they could hide, fight. But checking around corners, under beds… that was beyond their will.

A terrible side effect of the Raccoon City Tragedy;

Paranoia.

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**Author's Note: And chapter one is done. I ryhemed. Anyway, what did you guys think? I know I'm better with humor, but I figured I'd give this a shot. Up next, the Redfields.**

** R&R please.**


	2. Price

**Author's Note: Chappy two**

**Summary: Whilsy Leon and Sherry suffer from Side Effects, Chris and Claire pay the Price.**

**Rating: T**

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**Paranoia**

Chapter Two: Price

_By: Mazzie May _

Claire checked, double checked and triple checked the door locks. All seven of them. She turned away from them and began to quietly make her way down the hall, before pausing and biting her lip nervously. She brought her hand up to her mouth and switched to nibbling on her thumbnail.

A brief pause of indecision…

A moment of hesitation…

Before turning and around and checking the locks for a fourth time. She simply couldn't help herself. But she was learning to. She was training herself to trust the world around her. Why, even last night, she'd left the bottom lock undone and sat in the living room for a whole hour trying to watch TV before half jogging to the door and finish up the last lock.

Chris was worse, though. He'd wanted ten locks and a reinforced door and walls. Claire had managed to talk him out of that, but it had been no easy task and a journey of many moons.

She sighed, letting herself drop into a chair in the kitchen. Why did they do this to themselves? Stay up hours later than they say their going to, watching the doors and windows? It'd been five years since everything. Why weren't the wounds healed, yet? Her fears had begun to scab over last year, but just hardly. Chris was still bleeding.

And why bother with so many door locks? She looked around her carefully at the white paint. Both of them had had more scares with walls-

_Mr. X breaking through the wall into the conference room-_

- being broken in front of them –

_Exploding concrete revealing an ugly, sexless thing, a pulsation heart protruding out of it's sick gray chest, blocking the path to the plane _– 

She shuddered, pushing the memory from mind. Claire was a big strong girl, but there were some nightmares she couldn't handle. She turned away from a crack in the wall near the ceiling, and saw her reflection in a mirror that was hanging in the hall. Gray circles were settled deeply under hazel eyes and her hair was a little messy.

She stood and passed the mirror, not wanting to look at herself. As she put her hand on her doorknob, she stole a glance into Chris' room.

If she thought she looked bad, Chris was worse. Currently, he was passed out, his head on his computer desk, breathing heavily. Chris never slept anymore, just went and went until his body shut down. His eyes were always red from dryness, and his eyelids were bruised from no sleep. They shared the circles underneath their eyes, only his were a dark purplish-green. He was pale and waxy, loosing weight, too. He was always on the computer or checking sources on Umbrella information.

_That's not true, though, is it?_ she thought shaking her head, pushing open her door. It wasn't Umbrella anymore. It was just Wesker now. All Chris did nowadays was breath, eat and dream Wesker. It was horrible and it killed Claire to watch her brother spiral downwards so. Chris thought of Wesker as his arch nemesis, and assumed Wesker felt the same. Another shake of her head as she readjusted her ponytail and slid onto her bed. As much as she hated Wesker, she knew he only saw Chris as a plaything. Nothing more, probably less.

She stared out the window. Or at least, out of the small corner of the window she could see. Chris had moved large pieces of furniture in front of all of the windows. With Chris' discovery of the pecked to death Forrest, and Claire's live action "The Birds" chase, Chris was determined to keep them out. Not that Claire minded _that_ extra security, she still missed looking out windows. In all honesty, however, even if the windows weren't blocked, she'd never be up against them; she'd be pressed against the wall cautiously looking out them before dashing past.

She rolled over onto her side. She hated being ruled by this fear. What she hated even more, though, was she thought she might have a chance. A chance to live a life in the light. But her brother was beyond help. Beyond anything. Nothing could touch him anymore, not even her. It was all she could do, fighting to stay within his sights.

She refused to let his disgusting obsession overrule anymore than it already had, and was determined to be there for him and with him. But this, all this, was costing them.

It cost them their freedom. Their hopes. Their dreams. The sunlight. The world. Her promise to Sherry. His sanity. Life.

It's so very expensive.

Paranoia.

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**Author's Note: So, uh... yeah. Enjoyed? Yes? No? Maybe? Or not. S'okay. I got two more chances to make you change your mind. Carlos and Jill are up next.**

** R&R, yesh?**


	3. False Salvation

**Author's Note: To the T, to the H back to the R, E, and E**

**Summary: As Chris and Claire scrape up what they have to pay the Price, Jill and Carlos huddle in False Salvation.**

**Rating: T. This one's a widdle bit gwaphic.**

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**Paranoia**

Chapter Three: False Salvation

_By: Mazzie May_

Jill sat in the corner of the living room, staring out into the living room, but not really seeing anything. All the lights were off, the curtains closed. This was how she spent the nights she knew she wouldn't be sleeping through; in her white over stuffed arm chair that Carlos wasn't allowed to touch.

Her Springfield Armory XD-9 sitting quietly on top of her right thy which was crossed over her left.

Jill never really thought about anything when she sat here, just waited. Didn't really expect anything, just waited. It was sad, that someone was so beyond their fear that all they did anymore is wait for it to try and bite them in the ass the moment they took a moment to relish the thought of "safety".

A door opened and a block of yellow light broke out from the hall. The door closed, the light disappeared. Muffled thumping down the hall, second door opened, a small _click_ and more light, only softer this time. A second later the door closed and all was dark again.

Jill hadn't moved at all, simply blinking once, slowly after it was dark again to readjust her night vision.

Carlos was just sprinting for the bathroom. It happened sometimes at night; something would worry him – either a nightmare or flashback – and off to the bathroom, or any place with a mirror, he would run. He needed to reassure himself.

Carlos had always been a jokingly vain individual. It was no secret. What was a secret, however, was his looks helped keep him sane. See, his greatest fear was turning into a zombie, and had been for the list six years. In his nightmares his flesh would gray, and rot, and fall away, revealing pulsating muscles gone green and slimy, and below was yellow and blackened bone.

To reassure him self, he'd lock himself away in the bathroom, checking his face, probing and pocking and picking every part of his body. He'd strip down to his birthday suit and stand amongst all the mirrors, trying to find sign of the virus.

And if he did happen to find a blotch, of any kind, he'd quickly cover it with some sort of foundation and then powder so the blemish was completely gone, his skin flawless again. The mounds of make-up in the bathroom and on his dresser might be embarrassing for most men, but to Carlos moisturizing and mixing colours to make the perfect shade were damn therapeutic. Jill didn't think he could make it through the day without the routine checks of dark flesh.

Jill watched him do it once. She'd been in the shower when he asked her if he could come in. She'd told him to wait. He began to plead, she gave in. He was near tears when he cracked open the door and slid in. She'd opened the shower curtain and watched him do what he did, neither of them ashamed; he needed the make-up to feel better, just like she needed to shower with the water boiling in order to feel semi-clean after a shower.

Jill shivered, thinking about being dirty. 'Dirty' was a bad thing with Jill, and just thinking about it now was doing things to her mind: she could feel Joseph's blood warm on her face, dry and crusty after she'd tried to wipe it off; the vomit slick on her lips after throwing up in the bathroom; Richard's skin pasty against her fingertips; Enrico's innards thick and sticky, slapping against her torso, his blood seeping through; the sticky _shwoopk_ as she skid through Brad's blood, kneeled into Brad's blood, pawed his bloody vest, collecting gray chunks of his brain and skull chips on her finger tips, desperately trying to find his ID card before the killer – _NEMESIS –_ turned around since she wasn't carrying hers; the grim caking her shoulders after the gas station explosion; the stench of the dead worm she fried in the graveyard seeping into her pours; raw sewage making it into her boots, forming burning rashes on her calves; her hair clumping in sticky masses as Nicholai's blood poured over her, a waterfall of death.

She reached into her pocket quickly, feeling the soft, warm comfort of metal. Hastily pulled out her lock pick and rubbed it between her fingers. Carlos had his make-up, she had her lock pick. Or, _Luke_, as she fondly called him in private. The phrase 'Lucas' Locks' were written on the inside, so Luke, of course. Luke was her most treasured possession and friend. Jill wasn't stable by any means, but Luke helped her cope. She'd spoken allowed to him many times in the dark, empty hallways of the Spencer Estate. The entire reason she went to the RPD back during the Raccoon Disaster was to get Luke. She searched her desk frantically, hysterically trying to find him that day; she couldn't get through that ordeal without Luke, and she certainly couldn't leave him behind.

And he repaid her loyalty now, the warm metal pressed against her cold, sweating, flushed face, reminding her that there were things she could count on in this world, that there was some structure left, that sanity did exist.

Jill and Carlos couldn't save themselves. They hide behind their inanimate saviors. The reassurance they seek comes from the need to be told they're okay from something that cannot tell them they _aren't_ okay.

False salvation is where they hide from it.

Paranoia.

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**Author's Note: First off, I'd like to thank my little sister, whom on the site goes by Shizmoo, for being my beta this time around. I think I'll enlist her help in the future because I suck at proof reading, as you all know. So, thank you Shizmoo. It is also worth noting that she thought the word "Calves" was pronounced "Cal-vis" and we had a good laugh. Hope you're all still around for this chapter and the next one, which happens to be the end! This will be my first completed multi-chapter story. Unless I'm hit by a car before I can finish. I hope that doesn't happen.**

**R&R if you please.**


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